“What is it?” Kinsley asked, her gaze lowering to the duffel bag he held in his gloved hands. It was an old bag, the kind that might have held gym clothes or sports equipment, its canvas faded and worn at the seams.
“Found this behind a false wall in one of the upstairs bedrooms,” Stretch said without preamble. He unzipped the bag with careful, practiced movements and parted the opening just enough for Kinsley to peer inside.
Stacks and stacks of cash.
Crisp bills were bundled together with rubber bands, packed tightly enough to fill the bag nearly to capacity. The money appeared old but well-preserved, the same way the tapes had been, protected by the same dry, insulated environment behind the same kind of hidden wall. Kinsley stared at the contents, her mind racing through the implications.
A seventeen-year-old girl with twenty-seven secret recordings and a duffel bag full of cash hidden behind a false wall. This wasn’t a teenager playing at journalism. This was ateenager who had been running an operation, collecting secrets and converting them into money with a sophistication that belied her age.
“I’d estimate around ten thousand dollars,” Stretch said in a low tone. “Wouldn’t you?”
12
Toby Drewett
July
Tuesday, 1:42 pm
Toby Drewett adjusted his uniform collar for the third time, wondering if the dampness of sweat had created a visible dark ring on the rough fabric. He wanted to make a good impression, but the humidity was working against him, amplifying every ounce of nervous energy he was trying to contain as he waited on the Bell mansion’s wraparound porch for Detective Kinsley Aspen to finish up inside.
He’d been both shocked and exhilarated when his sergeant had stopped him in the lobby of the station barely two hours ago with the announcement that he would be assisting Aspen on the Bell case. Apparently, Detective Alex Lanen was on a fishing trip in the Gulf, and Aspen had requested a patrol officer to help with the investigation until her partner returned. His sergeant hadn’t offered any explanation for why Toby had been selected over more senior officers, and Toby hadn’t asked. He’d simply nodded and tried very hard not to grin like an idiot inthe hallway. There hadn’t been time to fully process what this assignment might mean for his career, but he intended to find out by doing the best work of his life over the next week.
“...call my cell,” Kinsley said over her shoulder to someone inside the house. She stopped just inside the doorway with her hand on the screen door, half in and half out. “And Stretch? That was damn good work.”
Toby straightened his posture the moment she turned and clearly caught sight of him standing at the far end of the porch. He hooked his thumbs on his utility belt in what he hoped was a professional stance, though he suspected it mostly came across like what it was…a young patrol officer trying too hard.
Despite being in her early thirties, Kinsley could have easily passed for her mid-twenties. Her athletic build spoke of someone who prioritized physical fitness, and she moved with the kind of efficiency that suggested she didn’t waste energy on anything that didn’t serve a purpose. She wore a dark blazer over what appeared to be a plain white shirt, paired with black pants, yet she didn’t seem to be sweating in the least despite the oppressive afternoon heat. She’d secured her blonde hair at the base of her neck with a clip, which probably helped, though Toby suspected she was simply one of those people who ran cooler under pressure than everyone around her.
“Drewett, I didn’t think your sergeant would have you out here until later this afternoon,” Kinsley said as she gave his uniform a quick once-over that was polite but clearly evaluative. The assessment took all of two seconds, and her conclusion was immediate. “Yeah, that’s not going to work.”
“Ma’am?”
“Do you own a suit?” Kinsley waved her hand, as if reconsidering the question before he could answer it. “Or anything business casual?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Go home and change, then.” Kinsley pulled her phone from the pocket of her blazer and grimaced at the time on the screen. “Did your sergeant brief you on the case?”
“No, ma?—”
“Kinsley, Kin, or Aspen.” She flashed him a quick smile, and a tiny dimple appeared near the corner of her lip. “If you’re going to be with me for a week, we’re dropping the formalities.”
Toby nodded his understanding, resisting the urge to tug at his collar again. The damp fabric was irritating his skin, and the prospect of wearing something more comfortable for the rest of the week was almost as appealing as the assignment itself.
“Alex is down in the Gulf with some college buddies on a fishing trip. Until he’s back, I’m going to need help re-interviewing some key witnesses in the Bell case.”
“Sarge said the murder happened in the early nineties?”
“That’s right,” Kinsley confirmed as she slipped her phone back into her blazer pocket. “You weren’t even born yet. Iris Bell was seventeen years old when she was pushed down a flight of stairs in this house, supposedly by her boyfriend. Grant Tatlock was convicted of killing her during an argument. He was eighteen, working class, and the evidence against him was a witness who found him at the scene and a cassette tape that captured him threatening Iris earlier that evening. He died in prison three years ago, still claiming his innocence. And there you have it. You’re all caught up.”
Toby listened carefully, absorbing the information and committing the key details to memory. He’d heard vague mentions of the Bell case during his time at the academy, one of those local tragedies that had become part of Fallbrook’s collective memory without most people knowing the specifics. The name Bell carried weight in this town, and the murder had only added to the family’s prominence, though in a way nobody would have wanted.
“Last week, a foreclosure crew working on this property discovered a tape recorder and twenty-seven cassette tapes hidden behind a false wall in the attic. Turns out, Iris had been secretly recording private conversations for months, and I’m almost certain she was using the recordings as blackmail against the people she had leverage over.”
“And that significantly widens the pool of potential suspects,” Toby said, the implication clicking into place immediately. If Iris had been extorting people, any one of her targets could have had reason to want her silenced. He understood now why Aspen was content with a patrol officer assisting her rather than waiting for another detective to become available. She didn’t need someone to run the investigation alongside her. She needed someone to help cover ground, conduct interviews, and handle the legwork while she directed the strategy. “You’re working to determine whether the original arrest was accurate.”
“This morning, forensics discovered a duffel bag with what they’re estimating is ten thousand dollars in cash,” Kinsley shared, her gaze sweeping across the front yard and the street beyond as she spoke. She was scanning out of habit, Toby realized, automatically cataloging the vehicles parked along the curb, the movement in the neighboring yards, the sight lines from one property to the next. “Someone was definitely paying Iris, and it wasn’t Grant Tatlock. He didn’t even have a hundred dollars in his bank account at the time of his arrest. We’ll know more once Stretch gets the evidence back to the lab, but in the meantime, we have a lot of ground to cover.”
